The Wrong Vanderbilt Heiress

Cha-ching! My long-lost billionaire parents finally brought me home. Thrilled, I was ready to take over the family business.

Then I managed to lose $50 million in two days flat.

As I stood there, overwhelmed and clueless, Eleanor sighed.

Fine. I'll handle it.

She worked through the night and saved the day.

My parents wanted me to play the piano at a fancy gala. I went through eighteen teachers and still couldn't play "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

When I was dying of embarrassment, Eleanor just shook her head.

"Fine. I'll do it."

She took the stage in last minute and brought the house down.

Then came Chad Harrington. The creep my parents had arranged for me to marry since we were in diapers. He looked at us like we were cuts of meat at the market, his comments sleazy and gross.

Eleanor gritted her teeth. "Fine, maybe I should just..."

SMACK! I slapped him before she could finish, threatening to wash his mouth out with a mop.

"What kind of lowlife toad dares lust after my sister?!"

My name is Scarlett Vanderbilt. I grew up in an orphanage. When I was brought back to the Vanderbilt mansion, I pointed at Eleanor Sinclair and asked, "Isn't she leaving?"

Nobody seemed to care.

Mr. Vanderbilt barely glanced at me before rushing back to the office. Mrs. Vanderbilt, cool as a cucumber, just told Eleanor to get me settled. My eight-year-old brother, Mason, looked me up and down, his disdain plain as day, then snorted and disappeared.

Instead, it was Eleanor C the woman who'd taken my place for over twenty years C who smiled at me.

She gave me a house tour and asked if I needed anything.

Her smile was perfect, her posture impeccablelike a mannequin.

I kept my guard up but she didn't flinch, just murmuring softly before leaving, "In this house, I'm a high-value investment."

"Valuable things don't get thrown away."

Her words left me confused.

Probably showing off, knowing I didn't have her fancy education.

Ugh.

Miss Perfect.

At dinner, Mrs. Vanderbilt suggested I try managing the family business.

Mr. Vanderbilt frowned.

"Her? She knows nothing! She'll just cause trouble."

"True," Mrs. Vanderbilt agreed, her tone still even. "Let her start in a branch office then."

They looked down on me, which pissed me off.

I'm not an idiot!

How much trouble could I possibly cause?

I strode into that office the next day, ready to wow them all.

By the next afternoon, I'd ruined a $50 million deal.

Curled up in a swivel chair, listening to my assistant wail, staring at piles of reports, I was near tears.

Fifty! Million! Dollars!

How does one person screw up that badly?!

Just as I was hyperventilating, Eleanor walked in.

"Mom and Dad sent me. They're... concerned." She cut to the chase.

My assistant rushed to beg for help once seeing her.

Eleanor scanned the reports, glanced at me trembling in the chair, looking utterly pathetic, and sighed.

"Fine. I'll handle it."

She rallied a team and worked straight through the night. By the time dawn broke, the losses had been recovered.

Everyone cheered, and I let out a long sigh of relief.

She even ordered food for the team, sorted overtime pay, adjusted their schedules, and called Ubers to get everyone home safely.

Thorough. Impressive. Annoyingly competent.

The office finally quieted. Eleanor leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, massaging her temples.

She hadn't slept because of me.

I stood there, awkward and ashamed.

Maybe sensing it, she gave me a reassuring smile.

"Don't blame yourself too much. The loss is recovered. It's normal to stumble when you're new. You'll learn."

Curious, I asked, "Did you mess up this badly when you started?"

She looked away, deftly sidestepping the question. "It's handled. Get some rest."

I looked down. Stupid question. Why ask for humiliation?

"Come on, let's go home." She patted my shoulder lightly. A faint scent of orchids lingered around her.

"Wait." I called out suddenly.

She turned, puzzled. I pressed my lips together and gave her a deep, formal bow. "Thank you."

Eleanor looked surprised, then a real smile touched her lips. "We're sisters. Helping each other is what we do."

Even though the loss was recovered, the colossal screw-up reached my parents.

They seemed to realize that I'd missed out on a proper upbringing for twenty years.

They yanked me out of the company and bombarded me with tutors.

My legs were still wobbly from the morning ballet drills when I had to shuffle to etiquette training in the afternoon.

The economic theories I'd struggled to memorize yesterday were already jumbling together with the history and culture I'd just learned today.

Mentally and physically drained, I tentatively told Mrs. Vanderbilt the pace was too intense.

She fell silent for a long moment, then nodded. "I see."

Then she enrolled me in piano, voice training, tea ceremony, and flower arrangment C to "cultivate my temperament."

Ha.

Pretty sure Mrs. Vanderbilt was trying to drive me out.

Seriously.

Just when I thought I'd crack, she dropped the bomb: I was to perform a piano solo at the gala for my official debut.

"This is your debut as a Vanderbilt. Society's first impression of you reflects on the entire family. Do well."

So, my piano lessons jumped from three times a week to three times a day.

After two weeks of pure torture, my hands shook so badly that I could barely hold my steak knife at dinner.

Frustrated, I sawed violently at the plate with my knife and fork. The whole family stared.

"Uncivilized," Mason sneered.

"Go away! I don't want to eat with you!"

I ignored him, engrossed in my bloody battle with the dead cow on my plate.

Mr. Vanderbilt coughed. Then again a moment later.

Must have had a tickle.

A little later, he slammed his cutlery down.

Probably slippery fingers.

"Scarlett," Mrs. Vanderbilt said calmly, "don't upset your father."

I blinked. "I didn't. He got mad all by himself. What am I supposed to do?"

As Mr. Vanderbilt was about to erupt, Mrs. Vanderbilt changed the subject. "How are the piano lessons going?"

The air thickened.

I said nothing, just cutting my steak.

Mr. Vanderbilt's patience was clearly at its limit.

"The gala is tomorrow! Word is already out that a Vanderbilt daughter will perform! So? You plan to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' in front of everyone?"

My soul shriveled. "You think I can even play that?"

He stood up, slamming the table, pointing at me with a trembling finger.

Probably a seizure.

Finally, Eleanor, who'd been quietly eating, shook her head. "Fine. I'll do it."

"It just says 'a Vanderbilt daughter' will perform. Doesn't specify which one. It should work."

Before our parents could respond, Mason snorted. "You're not even part of this family! Just a Fake! What gives you the right to show off using our name?"

I'd had enough of this little brat.

Rolling up my sleeves, I was ready to turn his backside into hamburger meat and teach him about sibling authority.

Eleanor's hand landed on my shoulder and shook her head slightly. Then she looked at our thoughtful parents.

Mr. Vanderbilt finally sat back down, grunting, "What other choice do we have?"

Mrs. Vanderbilt, however, seemed hesitant. She looked at me. "Scarlett, Eleanor is helping you. Don't resent her for stealing your spotlight."

Weird thing to say.

She's saving my skin. I'm not insane. Why would I resent her?

The gala went ahead as planned.

My parents introduced me to the press, emphasizing Eleanor would stay in the family as their adopted daughter.

Eleanor, poised as ever, ignored the whispers about her status and took her seat at the piano.

Under the spotlight, amidst the murmurs, a gentle melody flowed from her fingertips.

After two weeks of wrestling the piano, I finally realized the keys could actually sound beautiful.

It was ike tangled threads smoothed by her hands and woven into shimmering silk.

If anything could be more beautiful than the music, it was her playing it.

Eleanor wore a dark blue gown sprinkled with fine diamonds, like a still lake reflecting a starry sky under the spotlight.

And as she played, a breeze seemed to ripple that lake, setting it aglow.

She was... glowing.

As the last note faded, she bowed.

Along with the applause came a rush of microphones, mostly asking about our relationship and whether she felt displaced.

Eleanor responded with such polished courtesy that she gave them little to work with.

Soon, reporters hungry for drama turned to Mason. "Which sister do you like better?"

Mason rolled his eyes. "Mom says all the money is mine! When I grow up, I'm kicking both of them out!"

Silence. Deafening silence.

Mason was unaware he'd said anything wrong, added, "One's a bastard who came from nowhere, the other's a country bumpkin. Neither deserves to be my sister!"

I walked forward silently, knuckles cracking.

I'd had enough of him.

He glared, defiant.

"What? Got a problem with that, you bumpkin?"

Eleanor stood beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder, whispering, "Ignore him. The more you react, the worse it gets."

I gently moved her hand aside.

"A yapping dog needs to be put in its place."

I strode forward, swept Mason up in a firm grip, and brought my hand down on his backside with a resounding smack.

The crisp slap cut through the room like a mute button.

Mason froze for a second then shame and anger hit him before the pain did.

He thrashed, kicked and cursed but I wouldn't stop.

"Shut your filthy mouth! How dare you look down your nose! Think I want to be your sister?!"

"I'll tan your hide till you know how to show respect!"

Rhythmic spanks echoed. Ugly curses dissolved into howls of surrender. Everyone stood stunned, too shocked to intervene.

Only the reporters were thrilled, their cameras flashing crazy. Tomorrow's headline wrote itself:

Vanderbilt Debut Turns Battlefield: Heiress Spanks Young Brother!

It was gonna be huge.

Sure enough, the next day, every outlet was flooded with HD footage of me turning Mason's backside into a ripe tomato.

Memes were circulating by that same evening.

Mr. Vanderbilt slammed the table, his face purpling with rage.

"This is absurd! Utterly absurd!"

"Mason is just a childhe misspoke! As his sister, you should have smoothed it over, not made a public scene! Have you any consideration for our family's reputation?!"

Mrs. Vanderbilt's face was icy, her eyes holding something beyond disdaina genuine hatred.

"This has gone too far. We are deeply disappointed in you."

I've never been good with words.

So I just stood there and let them rant. Whatever, I'd pack my bags and leave.

My 'bring it on' attitude only fueled Mr. Vanderbilt's rage.

He raised his hand, ready to strike.

Just as Eleanor rushed to intervene and I was ready to hit back, his phone rang suddenly.

Glancing at the screen, his expression shifting dramatically.

He swallowed his anger, answered with sickening sweetness, nodding obsequiously, stealing a troubled glance at me mid call.

Hanging up, he looked like he'd swallowed a bug. Grimly, he announced:

Chad Harrington, the Harrington heir betrothed to the Vanderbilt daughter since birth, would fly back home soon.

I was floored.

Arranged marriages?

That dusty relic wasn't even a thing in the boonies anymore! Who knew city elites still clung to it?

Mr. Vanderbilt's gaze settled on me, his frown deepening.

"Chad heard about the... change in fiance. He's coming specifically to meet Scarlett."

Eleanor paled, her composure cracking. "The engagement was always with me! I should be the one..."

"Eleanor." Mrs. Vanderbilt's voice was arctic. "Mind your place."

Eleanor bit her lip. "But..."

"But what?" Mr. Vanderbilt snapped. "This marriage secures the alliance! Does Harrington blood run in your veins?"

Eleanor fell silent, looking at me, her eyes filled with complex worry.

Mr. Vanderbilt turned to me, his voice low and deadly serious. "The Harringtons are titans. Even the Vanderbilts rely on their favor. Do not mess this up!"

Before I could argue, a driver shoved me into a car, whisking me off to meet Chad at an exclusive tea house.

Eleanor's reaction nagged at me. Was there real feeling between them, beyond the arrangement?

If so, I wouldn't steal her man.

Even if our parents were insisting, Chad and I could talk privately to find a way out.

That was the plan.

Then he opened his mouth. "Heard about you. Like you better than your sister."

His beady eyes roamed over me, greasy. "All those society princesses are carbon copies. Boredom incarnate. I can picture them in bed with my eyes closed."

"But a wildflower like you? Now that's interesting."

My brain short-circuited.

This was the guy Eleanor pined for? Was she hexed?!

My hand moved faster than my thoughts. A loud CRACK!echoed as my palm met his cheek before I turned to bolt.

He touched his stinging face, watching me run, a twisted smirk forming. "Feisty... I like it."

He stopped smirking when he realized I wasn't running for the exit, but the restroom.

I emerged wielding a wet mop, shoving it into his panicked face and starting scrubbing vigorously.

"What kind of lowlife toad dares lust after my sister?!"

"Filthy mouth! Needs washing out!"

That day, a legend was born in Manhattan.

The untouchable Chad Harrington fled the tea house, weeping.

Shirt untucked, hair wild, dripping wet, covered in suspicious red marks, he sobbed to anyone who'd listen that he was ruined, defiled, couldn't show his face again.